


One Too Many

by BalefireFlatlands



Category: Mad Max (Video Game 2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2019-09-14 09:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16910556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BalefireFlatlands/pseuds/BalefireFlatlands
Summary: Lectricy Boy getting high and Outcrier taking advantage. Non-con to the max.





	One Too Many

Gastown at night was admittedly more impressive, with the neon lights and the fire of the gasoline burnoff casting shadows and light over the entire area. But it was mid-day and everything was washed out in the browns and blacks of dust and sludge. The Outcrier was up in his ‘office’ leaned back in his chair with his legs on the desk, arms behind his head as he napped, waiting for the evening when the games would begin.

A man dressed in grungy brown leather, half his head shaved and the remains hanging in matted tendrils over his ear, approached the man in charge. His lip curled in disgust when he found him asleep, wondering if shooting him awake would be worthwhile. There didn’t seem to be any sort of guards or protection around, but this was Scrotus’ stronghold, and he probably wouldn’t take kindly to someone killing his main attraction. He grunted, approaching the desk only to find there was someone next to it as well. On the ground was a shirtless man, leaned against a crate, also sleeping, his arms and chest blackened and a rag around his mouth, obviously a fumehead.

He aimed a vicious kick at the man’s side, startling him awake and knocking over the crate as well in his haste to get away.

“Hey!” The Outcrier was awake now too, mouth turned in a frown as he got up from behind the table. “Don’t damage the equipment.”

“Equipment? Oh.” Now that the fumehead was awake the newcomer could see that he had some mechanical contraption strapped to his back that he was now struggling to get back into position.

The Outcrier reached down and harshly dragged the man up by the machine, shoving him roughly to the side. “Alright, you have my attention.” He came out from behind the desk, lighting a cigar as he did so.

“Heard you’re the man to talk to about the games.”

The Outcrier chuckled, blowing out a puff of smoke in the other mans face. “That’s right. You want to prove yourself, you go through me.” He stepped back, eyeing him up and down through his goggles. “You ever fight before, fresh meat?”

“I’m Raglan, and I’ve killed everyone I’ve ever faced.”

“Hm, Raglan, huh?” He sat back down in his chair, having made a complete circuit around the desk. “I’ve never heard of you.”

Raglan quirked an eyebrow as the fumehead followed along behind the Outcrier, gathering up thick black cord that connected a box hanging off the Outcrier’s belt to the machinery on the shirtless mans back and winding it onto a spool at his side. “That’s cuz everyone who knows about me, is dead.”

The Outcrier chewed on the end of his cigar before standing up again. “Good enough for me! So. Here’s the deal.” He got up to approach Raglan, shoving the fumehead out of the way so he wouldn’t get tangled up in the cord. “You get your choice of one weapon, only one. And you get to go in the Murderdome with allllll of them.” He gestured to a slew of names chalked onto a board by his desk. He put an arm around Raglan’s shoulders as he continued, “And should you survive, you get to do it again next week. And the week after that. And so on. Make champion and you get to face off with the Top Dog himself. Assuming you live that long.”

Raglan shrugged the arm off, eyeing the names on the board with the incomprehension of someone to whom letters had no meaning. “And the prize?”

“Heh. All business aren’t you? First you gotta win the fight Rags. But don’t worry, the rewards,” He pointed with his cigar at a fully decked out car displayed beyond bars at the other side of the encampment. “are great.”

Raglan nodded, eyes never leaving the car. The things he could do with a machine like that…

Realizing he’d lost his attention the Outcrier scoffed, going back to his seat. “Tonight then. Pick yourself a weapon, something you wouldn’t mind dying with.” He watched as the man trudged away, eyes always on the car, and turned to his companion. “Well, he’s gonna die fast.” The smaller man nodded, putting his black-stained fingers up to the rag across his face.

—

From his rusted perch above the metal dome the Outcrier watched the fight beneath him. Arms crossed over his chest, the lights of his vest dark as he waited for someone to be victorious below, he almost smiled as Raglan scored another kill using only the broken end of a motor fan. “Well well. That’s unexpected. He’s almost..” He trailed off as he realized no one was listening to him. “Lec… Lectricy?” He sighed, half turning and giving a sharp tug on the extension cord at his waist. The man attached to the generator came tumbling out of the darkness, nearly falling over as he tried to walk and tie the fabric around his head tighter at the same time.

Behind his goggles the Outcrier rolled his eyes, “You are such a fucking fumehead.” Lectricy shrugged, taking his place slightly behind the Outcrier and sending him a look of such pure lust the Outcrier actually missed whatever had happened below to send the crowd into a frenzy. He half smiled before turning back to the dome and watching the rest of the fight.

“Ha! He makes it to next week. Might be one to watch after all.” And the crowd seemed to love him. All the better, the more people who showed up, the more money he made for Scrotus, and the more Scrotus left him alone. Not to mention his own cut of the money and first pick of the supplies that were shipped to Gastown.

He turned and nodded at Lectricy to start the generator back up so he could announce the champion, noting that he was still giving him that look. He’d have to do something about that later.

—

Gastown was deserted after the fights, everyone at the stadium, or brawling in their own versions somewhere else. No one was around to watch as the Outcrier strolled through town to his personal office, Lectricy at his heels. He went past his desk to the room beyond, and then down a short hallway to a room with a stout door that he slid to the side, closing it behind him as soon as he was in the room and slamming Lectricy against it with an arm against his chest.

“What did I tell you about huffing during the show?” He reached up and harshly pulled the fabric off Lectricy’s face. “This not enough for ya?”

Lectricy looked away, squirming against the generator on his back until the Outcrier let him up. He undid his belt with some difficulty, brain still fuzzy from the full hit of pure fume he’d done during the fight. He struggled out from under the weight of the generator, leaning it against the wall and flexing his neck and shoulders. He reached up to pull his fume-soaked rag back over his face, but the Outcrier grabbed him around the middle and forcibly threw him face down onto the stack of mattresses that served as their bed. He straddled him and roughly worked the knots behind Lectricy’s neck until he could pull the whole swath of fabric off and toss it to the side, “Time to sober up.”

With a whimper Lectricy tried to grab for it, only to have the Outcrier pin both his hands above his head. With a harsh yank he dragged him closer to the wall, reaching for the chain around one of the metal I-beams holding the structure up. Attached to the end of the chain were two leather cuffs that the Outcrier roughly strapped around Lectricy’s wrists, tightening them until the man below him yelped. He backed off him, tugging off his shoes and then his pants, leaving Lectricy naked and exposed on the bed.

He carefully hung his lighted vest on a peg in the wall, before stripping down, watching as Lectricy squirmed and tried to roll onto his back without any success. He smiled as he took his goggles off, spotting the handshaped bruise on the smaller man’s back from a previous night. Leaning down he placed his hand on top of it, matching up his fingers to the bruise; Lectricy stopped squirming and tried to look back at him over his shoulder.

“Oh now you’re paying attention?” Lectricy opened his mouth like he was actually going to reply, but then shut it and looked away. “That’s right.” The Outcrier smiled smugly, trailing his hand down from Lectricy’s back to between his legs. “Now look at me like you were before.”

Lectricy groaned, closing his eyes briefly before half opening them and looking back at the Outcrier who smiled and chuckled before climbing over him. “That’s the one part of this addiction that’s worth it.” Lectricy’s arms were stained black up past the elbows, along with his neck, chest and lower jaw, some days he could barely stand and function, but when all the color had drained out of his eyes he’d gained a sultry look that was completely worth everything else the Outcrier put up with to keep him around.

Kneeling between Lectricy’s legs he braced one hand against his back to keep him in place before shoving himself inside with barely any preparation. Lectricy screamed and flailed his legs, trying to pull away, but the Outcrier held him down. He frowned, maybe that had been too much, but he was pissed. “Alright, get up.” He pulled out of him, settling back on his heels, as Lectricy trembled and tried to get up on all fours. He was bleeding, he was hurt, and he was still so obedient.

The Outcrier rubbed Lectricy’s back, supporting him as he wobbled while trying to balance on his elbows and knees. He pushed his fingers into him, watching Lectricy’s breath steam out in short puffs in the considerable coldness of the room. It didn’t take long for him to start moaning, pain was fleeting when he was this high. Something the Outcrier took full advantage of.

But now it was time to take advantage of his bound lover squirming beneath him. He slammed into him, chuckling as Lectricy nearly fell over into the wall. One hand went to his hip and the other to his neck, keeping him exactly where he wanted him. He did make some lovely noises, especially when the Outcrier left another set of bruises on his sides when he finished.

Pulling out, he let Lectricy collapse into the various fluids staining the bed. The Outcrier cleaned himself off, admiring the spreading bruises blooming on the smaller man’s lower half. He finally reached over and unstrapped him getting another yelp as he touched hands that had long since lost any blood flow to them. He was slightly surprised, and pleased, when Lectricy curled up on the bed rather than going for his mask. He was probably high enough already that he didn’t need it yet, but the Outcrier was going to pretend like he was actually going to sober up for once.

Lectricy stretched fully and then rolled over to lean against the Outcrier’s side, one blackened arm snaking around him. The Outcrier grunted and looked at him strangely, he really must be high out of his mind right now. Still … it wasn’t all bad. He rested his hand on Lectricy’s side and stared up at the ceiling.

He could really go for a cigar right about now.


End file.
